Sticks and Stones

The tree has known, as well as stone
the strength it takes to bend
For trees are rooted deeply
Precious foliage to nurture and tend.

A chilling breeze through idle leaves
Just blew the tree away
While bestowing warmth on a shaded face
A back draft thaw was taking place.

Yet trees are trees and stone is stone
Dependent moss on both has grown
What purpose, fate, do you suppose
Had in its mind with stats like those?

The mingling of trees with priceless gems
Emerge as a treasure known as friends.

Gone But Not Forgotten

The universe, adorned with stars and light
Can captivate, we marvel at the glare.

Wishing on them in despair; not completely unaware
That our eyes take pleasure and delight
In stars that are not there.

Though space has claimed the stars of night
It somehow missed the show of light
That glows no matter how we try
To tell ourselves the light’s a lie.

To see the distant from afar
Is to keep the wish, if not the star.

Stoned

“Good morning” said the oak tree
To the dark and gloomy stone
Would thou prefer I go away
And leave thee to thine own?
I sway your way on gentle breeze
With warmth for you to hold
But as a tree, I ask of thee
Do stones prefer the cold?

Struck

They babbled like a brook in spring
She wondered why they came
Oblivious to everything
She did not know their name
She shrugged her shoulders, endlessly
To signify her doubts
And searched for signs, repeatedly
Of her own whereabouts.

Speechless

The wall has closed that vital crack
that allowed me to come through
It seems that fissure healed itself
And blocked my point of view
Just one more stranger in the stream
Who failed to reach those things unseen.

Awakenings

Gentle thought and quiet talk
Of yesterday’s promise, it seems
Reveals the truth, the painful proof
That waking falls short of our dreams.

As youthful dreams are laid to rest
Their intent to pave the surface
Our hearts and minds still try their best
To make the dream the purpose.

Limitations

I can’t possess the moment of the breeze
Or capture smells from flowers growing wild
I can’t abolish painful tragedies
Or dry the painful tears of every child
I don’t recall a time I did not long
To save the world and rescue every heart
I don’t think small but I have been so wrong
To think that I could carry out that part
I won’t give up although it seems in vain
My passion to find justice in this world
My powers to rekindle dwindling flames
Are limited but still will not be hurled
I cannot let my love of life expire
As long as there’s a spark I tend the fire.

Finale

I’m sick to death of caring
Of trying and begging and fighting
Looking down on that hedge
From the edge of this ledge
Makes jumping sound very inviting.

Balance

It’s better to be in between
Than always stuck in one extreme
To cope, we often justify
The things we cannot rectify
The turmoil that provides the churn
Results in undue self-concern
Contradiction plagues each soul
That yearns for that which makes it whole.

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Wrongful Imprisonment

Lovely little Lucy
Let me give you light
Let me lift the shades a bit
Restoring you with sight

Fluff your feathers Lucy
And leave the bonds of night
Within your cage you can’t engage
In wonderment of flight

The door is widely open
And yet you choose to rest
You’ve clucked and I have spoken
Now I leave you to your nest.

In afternoon I shall return
To tease and plead and beg
An honorable quest, I’ll do my best
To lure you off that egg.

You’ve imprisoned yourself in a safe, sheltered pen
Guarding unfertile eggs like a proud mother hen.

Obstacles

Water doesn’t etch a path
That alters our existence
It simply takes the easy route
That offers least resistance.

It doesn’t fret relentlessly
On how it goes or where
It simply flows ’round rock and tree
To get from here to there.

Sparks

When stumbling into foreign land
without a clue, much less a plan

No one else need feel remorse
for those who choose a wayward course

Though well meant gestures oft inspire
a wayward spark can fuel the fire.

Conscience

Constantly torn
between righteous and wrong
alters the page
and rewrites the song.

Lurking somewhere
between fine and forbidden
the dream is elusively
shared — though well hidden.

Passion Fruit

I long for my garden
where wild flowers grow
to wander for hours
or lie still below
the shelter of trees
as they whisper and moan
I long for my garden
where passion is grown.

Morning

In early morning hours
when night begins to fade
my eyes behold a gentle light
that hides the world we’ve made.
Before the day progresses
I try to capture part
of this early morning innocence
and keep it in my heart.

Guilty as Charged

I confess I’m guilty of the crime
I thrive on sinful sounds of rhyme
a small transgression, in my eyes
for which I don’t apologize.
It’s not an effort on my part
but the natural rhythm of my heart
those fleeting thoughts that come and go
captured, they combine and flow.
The rhyme is what entices me
From perfect prose to poetry.

Happy Birthday, My Love

My husband is celebrating his birthday this week.
This one’s for you my love!

I always try to shine for you
and many times I fail
to do what you expect me to
I try to no avail.
I’ve many dreams within my heart
which often steal my time
but you are very much a part
of the future in my mind.
In times apart or times together
with all of my heart
I will love you forever.

I Love You.

Happy Birthday!

Slightly Touched

I touched the surface of the stone
And sensed the crystals’ melt
I felt its coldness in my hand
As smooth as glass on shifting sand
And wondered what it felt.

Did it feel the warmth within my hold
Or did I simply feel the cold?

Sugaring

time to harvest
nature’s crop
New England gold
mined drop by drop
flowing freely
as days grow long
adding notes
to Spring’s sweet song.